


We're the Masters of Our Own Fate

by obscurial



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bipolar Even Bech Næsheim, But not an entirely sad ending?, Grief/Mourning, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Suicide, Suicide Notes, angst like you would not believe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 16:02:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11695110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obscurial/pseuds/obscurial
Summary: My dearest Isak.Before you continue reading, I want you to know that this is not your fault.Or, Isak returns to the hotel room, but this time, he is alone.





	We're the Masters of Our Own Fate

**Author's Note:**

> hello my friends! so, you know how others usually go out to have a drink or party with their friends when they turn eighteen? well, uh, i write intense angst. happy birthday to me, i love to Suffer.
> 
> anyway, please be careful while reading this fic! it does explore themes relating to suicide and self-depreciation, and vaguely uses ableist language (while referring to oneself). please do not read this if you are easily affected by these themes! stay safe, my pals!!
> 
> also, this fic was inspired by an edit by my good pal cassidy (@lotusjonas) which uses the song Lust for Life by lana del rey and the weeknd !!!  
> https://twitter.com/lotusjonas/status/892254721896964097

_My dearest Isak._

Numbly, Isak sits on the cold, wooden floor of room 409 with his legs crossed. A thick, alabaster duvet wraps around his frail shoulders, spilling over onto his bare thighs. With glassy eyes, he gazes out the hotel window, and he thinks to himself about how he once thought the serene cityscape before him, with its pretty lights and grandiose buildings, was absolutely _breathtaking_. Now, it seems nothing more than just claustrophobic. He hates the skyscrapers towering over him, hates how small and helpless they make him feel. Hunching inwards, he tugs at the corners of the duvet, pinching the soft quilt tightly until his fingertips lose their rosy colour.

_Before you continue reading, I want you to know that this is not your fault._

He laughs humourlessly, tossing his phone carelessly onto the bed behind him, as he pushes his back against the side of the mattress, feeling the smooth surface of the duvet scrub against his spine. Isak basks in the comforting sensation, curling his legs towards his chest, and pressing his forehead against his coarse knees.

_Darling, you were the only thing that made me happy, and kept me going. On days when it all got too much, you’d hold me close and we could pretend that everything was alright, even when it really wasn’t. We could pretend that I wasn’t fucked in the head, and that I was truly the man of your dreams._

Breathing doesn’t come easy to Isak. Not when he could still feel Even’s fingertips ghosting across his shoulder blades, not when he could still hear Even’s steady breaths by his ear, and _definitely_ not when the pulsating in his chest reminded him of the soothing cadence of Even’s speech. _Fuck_ , did his heartbeat really have to synchronise with the rhythm of his voice?

Isak exhales shakily, clutching at the duvet in a feeble attempt to steady himself. He hates that Even still refers to his head as fucked up, and he _hates_ that he could never convince him that he had the most _glorious_ mind which saw the world through shards of beautifully stained glass, and collected memories in rolls of vintage film at the back of his head. Sure, he wasn’t the man of Isak’s dreams, but he was absolutely the man of his _life_ – and compared to an intangible wisp, he’d _much_ rather have a constant warm presence that he could hold and kiss and love.

_I don’t think I ever did deserve you. You were so good to me, sweetheart, you were too good for me._

_Ridiculous_ , Isak thinks, and he honestly feels like laughing because the very _thought_ of Even not being good enough for him was complete _bullshit_. He clenches his fists forcefully, the tips of his fingernails painfully digging into the palms of his hands, and he trembles uncontrollably, an overwhelming feeling of pure _rage_ bursting through his veins.

_I want you to live, Isak. Actually live, and not be tied down to some nutjob that sometimes, can’t even get himself out of bed for weeks on end. I just want you to be happy. You must promise me that you will allow yourself at least that much._

Gnashing his teeth, Isak gets up from the ground and viciously _hurls_ the cushioned stool by the vanity table across the room, watching it tumble onto the floor helplessly with a sick feeling of satisfaction licking at his insides. He wants to do _more_ , adrenaline pumping in his blood wild and _rough_ and anger positively _radiating_ from the sharp edges of his knuckles.

But he stops himself, knowing that if he were to trash the hotel room the way he wanted to, the hotel staff would probably receive a thousand complaints from his neighbours about the ruckus and he’d be forced to deal with them knocking at his door, demanding to know what was going on. And he honestly doesn’t think that he has the emotional capacity to face _anyone_ right now.

_My love, I want you to go back to our room in the Radisson Blu Plaza Hotel. I should still be checked in. And if no one came in to take it away, there should still be half a burger waiting for you on the left bedside table._

The burger is _disgusting_ – the mozzarella is hardened from the chilly air, the buns are _drenched_ in oil, and the patty is cold and gritty – yet Isak savours every bite, grease staining his fingers and trickling down his forearms. As he chews, he quietly thinks to himself about how they were going to serve these at their wedding. He wonders if the same thought had fluttered through Even’s mind when he was eating his half of the burger.

_This room… God, I remember exactly what we did in this room the last time we were here. Do you?_

Isak gets up to clean the filth from his hands and arms in the bathroom sink, trying his _damned_ hardest not to glance into the mirror before him because all he’d see is _Even_ , wrapping his warm arms around Isak’s waist from behind, murmuring sweet promises into his nape and pressing soft kisses behind his ears. He sighs heavily, eyes stubbornly fixated on the suds flowing down the drain. He _refuses_ to remember the way Even had lifted him effortlessly onto the bathroom counter and kissed him _senseless_ , his eager hands splayed across the small of his back and nimble fingers tracing intricate patterns on the surface of his skin.

_I want you to lie down on the bed for me, my beloved. Take off all your clothes, and lie down for me._

Yet he indulges in Even’s request, slowly slipping out of his boxers and abandoning them by a pile of the rest of his clothing, which he had taken off the moment he entered the room. It felt _wrong_ , almost, to be in room 409 and fully-clothed. The only time he ever wore clothes in this room was when he ran out to chase a _very_ naked Even in the middle of the night, and that was a memory he’d very much like to bury.

It is this very moment that Isak realises that he’s automatically left a space on the other side of the mattress. _Even’s side_ of the mattress.

_I remember kissing you and feeling your fingers threading through my hair oh so gently, almost like you were afraid of breaking me. I remember worshipping every inch of your skin and feeling you gasp and quiver beneath my lips. I remember making love to you in this very bed, imagining that the city lights outside our window were brilliant, brilliant stars._

Isak remembers, too. He remembers the way Even whispered into his hair, as he slowly pushed his cock deep into Isak, about how Isak was the physical manifestation of his every _fantasy_ , with his flushed cheeks and glimmering eyes. He remembers mewling and whimpering shamelessly as Even stroked him nice and slow, skilful fingers teasing at his slit. _Fuck_ , he even remembers the way Even’s thumb felt pressing against his cheek, tenderly pulling his mouth open to free his strangled moans from the back of his throat.

_But Isak, my beloved, nothing could ever shine as brightly as you._

Whining, Isak writhes as he pumps his fingers in and out of himself, careful to angle his hips away from the half-open bottle of lube beside him. His skin, _fuck_ , his skin is burning from head to toe, almost as if his body’s protesting against the fact that Even isn’t there to touch him. To caress him. To _love_ him-

_Soon it’s going to be 21:21. And I just wanted to say that I’m sorry._

He imagines Even, and the way his plush lips would press against his own, affectionate and loving.

_I’m sorry that I hurt you._

He gasps, envisioning the light trail of Even’s fingers dancing across his thighs, playful and fond.

_I’m sorry that I was a burden to you._

Isak’s vision is clouding, the sharp prick at the corners of his eyes causing him to scrunch his entire face up into a folded mess, and in a moment of weakness, he chokes out a ragged yelp, because he remembers that Even would _always_ peck the tip of his nose softly and envelope him with his _whole body_ whenever he cried, and he’s never felt more _alone_ in his entire life.

_And I’m sorry that I was too selfish to let you go._

He doesn’t even register his orgasm when it comes, too preoccupied with his own thoughts to notice the pool of white across his abdomen. He feels strange, like his body doesn’t belong to him, like he’s watching himself weep and pant from across the hotel room. He slowly turns onto his side, chest jerking as he hiccups into the pillow beneath his head.

_Another place, another universe out there, we’re together for all of eternity. Please remember that._

He must have subconsciously moved towards Even’s side at some point, because the pillow he buries his face into smells _just like him_. Isak clings to it _for dear life_ , his fingers clutching at the fabric desperately, clawing and scraping and _tearing_ at the pillow until its seams began to rip.

_I love you, Isak Valtersen, and I will never stop loving you._

“ _Even_ ,” Isak wails, squeezing his eyes shut as he sobs into the pillow, fingers tremulously gripping at the last remnants of Even’s scent, “F-Fuck, you f- fucking _asshole_...”

_Please don’t look for me. Even if you do find my body, that wouldn’t be me anymore. And I want your last memories of me to be beautiful, Isak. Beautiful and alive._

It’s been hours, and Isak still hasn’t moved one bit. He wonders what Even was thinking of in his final moments.

_Thank you for letting me have the privilege of calling you mine, even if it was only for a fleeting moment._

Was he relieved? Was he upset? Was he nonchalant?

_I will miss you terribly, I know I will. But I also know that I will find you again in another life, my beloved._

_Perhaps_ , Isak muses as he turns to lie on his back, arms resting by his sides limply, _In an absolutely ‘Even’ fashion, he embraced death with his arms wide open, wearing a kind grin, imagining what lay before him in the near future_.

Isak already knows that the hurt Even had left behind amongst the depths of his chest will never leave him. He could be seventy, and still feel this overwhelming sense of grief in the pit of his stomach.

_‘Till we meet again._

_Even._

But as he stretches his arms wide across the sheets, he also feels golden tendrils of hope entwining themselves deep amongst his anguish.

If he _truly_ is the captain of his own soul like all the fables say he is, then he’s guaranteed to meet Even again, for there lies _nothing_ in this entire universe that could _possibly_ tear them apart.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope that didn't wreck anyone, yikes.  
> also, if you are in crisis, please do not hesitate to seek help! i may not know you, but i love and care for you so, so much already!! please stay safe, my friend, and never lose hope! <333  
> (also, sidenote, if u don't know the significance of the number 409, 4 is the number of death, while 9 is the number of suffering. just a fun fact!)


End file.
